


In a Perfect World, I would Hold your Hand and Kiss your Cheek

by boredom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Angst (Good Omens), Aziraphale Gets Therapy, Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Comfort/Angst, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel is terrible, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), mentions of queerphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: A chance encounter with a young man leads Aziraphale on the path of healing and discovery. Maybe now he can finally admit to what he wants, without guilt and without fear. Maybe now he and Crowley can finally move forward, together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 115





	1. Can you go to Gay Hell for making an Old Gay Man cry? (Asking for a friend)

**Author's Note:**

> Working title: Aziraphale gets therapy and finally starts to react to his emotions in a healthy manner. Not as catchy. Anyways, enjoy a short fic that is focused on Aziraphale healing and moving forward. It's gonna be sad, there are going to be some heavy topics discussed, but it will end happy, because we all deserve a happy ending.

Grant was flying high as his date suggested that instead of saying goodbye after lunch, they could go for a walk in St. James Park. That was always a good sign and he was really hoping this one worked out. Ethan seemed perfect for him. He was smart, funny, volunteered at an animal shelter and soup kitchen, had a job, and seemed to know what deodorant was and how to use it. Seriously, how many twenty-seven-year-old men still didn’t know how to groom properly? It was baffling, to say the least. 

After a particularly messy break-up, Grant wasn’t keen on getting back into the dating game, but he had been convinced by his friends. He was so glad they did. It was a little too early to go back to his place and have sex, but he didn’t want the date to end yet. Ethan seemed to read his mind and suggested they take a walk in the park, maybe get some ice cream and enjoy the rare sunny day. Yup, Ethan seemed perfect. The day seemed perfect. The date seemed perfect. There was just one problem. 

As Ethan and Grant were sitting on a park bench, chatting about his work (Ethan laughed at his accounting jokes! Could he get any more perfect?) he had a strange feeling he was being watched. 

He managed to subtly glance behind Ethan to see an older man sitting on a park bench not far from them. He was probably in his forties or fifties, very buttoned up, and very old-fashioned looking. Immediately, the tone of the day soured. Of course, two people couldn’t enjoy each other’s company without someone taking offense to it. They hadn’t even kissed!

Glancing at the man, Grant could immediately tell his type. He was definitely gay, but probably very closeted. That in and of itself wasn’t an offensive thing. Everyone stayed in the closet for different reasons and no one should ever be forced out of the closet. However, he was probably the kind of guy that took those feelings and twisted them into something ugly, something hateful. It hung over Grant like a cloud and suddenly, the day didn’t seem that sunny. 

“This has been a lot of fun,” Ethan said, crumpling up the napkin that came with his ice cream and slipping it into the trash can beside them. “I’m sorry, but I do need to go. My cat’s automatic feeder broke and if she doesn’t get her three kibbles at exactly 2:05, she’ll destroy my houseplants. I don’t want to have to buy another cactus. I think the local nursery thinks I sacrifice my plants every week to Satan or something since I come in every other week to buy a new cactus.” 

Grant laughed. A cat owner and a plant owner, either Ethan was perfect, or Grant’s standards were so low that a cardboard cutout of Margret Thatcher could meet them. He decided it was the former, if only because that was a little less depressing of a thought. 

“Next time, I’ll have to meet that cat of yours,” he said. 

“Ah, I knew it, you were only with me for the cat,” Ethan sighed dramatically. He grinned and pecked Grant on the lips. “I’ll text you and we can set up another date. I promise I’ll let you meet Ellie next time.” 

He waved to him and sat back down on the bench, basking in the glow of the perfect date. Except it wasn’t perfect because that man was still staring at him, probably with some scandalized look on his face. Oh, shock and horror, he was pecked on the lips by another consenting adult.

He glanced over at him, the man was staring at the ducks swimming in the pond, probably trying to pretend like he wasn’t a homophobic asshole. 

Grant should have gone home, should have texted Ashely and let her know that she was right (again) and that Ethan was perfect (of course), but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The man sitting on the bench had to understand that this wasn’t his world anymore. he couldn’t just bully people into submission and form fit them into what he thought was perfect. Growing up, Grant had listened to the whispers, withstood the bullying, closeted himself over and over again to make other people happy. He wasn’t doing it! Not any more. 

He tossed his wrapper in the trashcan and marched over to the man, who was still looking at the ducks. Each step, the anger that he felt was replaced with nerves. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe he should leave well-enough alone. 

“Hello, can I help you?” the man asked.

Shit. He was an idiot. “Um…” He had to say something, but what? “Do you have a problem with my date?” he blurted out, not sounding nearly as confident or cool as in his head. 

The man stared at him, blinking. He looked back down at the ducks. “No, not at all, it’s just…” 

He swallowed and Grant could see tears gathering in his eyes. Shit, he made an old man cry. That wasn’t what he wanted!

“It used to be illegal, you know.”

Never mind. He was one of those that would go onto a tirade about how ‘back in my day, things were better!’

“I remember the day it was no longer illegal,” his voice was soft. He tossed a handful of frozen peas into the pond, the ducks all swimming up to eat the offering. 

Grant stood there, silent, trying to figure out where he was going with all of this. 

“You weren’t even alive then. Isn’t that strange? But the day it was no longer illegal, I put up a rainbow flag in the window of the bookshop. I was so happy!” 

Shit, this wasn’t going the way he expected at all. He sat down on the bench. The man sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes. Could you go to gay hell for making an old gay man cry? Was that a thing that happened? 

The man let out a wet laugh. “I remember, towards the end of the day, a young girl came in, asking if she could use my bathroom to wash the paint from her face. I normally don’t let customers use the restroom. I don’t want them to get too comfortable.” 

He tossed another handful of frozen peas into the lake. “Every year, young people come into the bookshop to wipe face paint off.” Tears were now rolling down his cheeks. 

“It’s no longer illegal, but I still remember when it was.” He looked at him, looking much older than anyone Grant had ever seen. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, today, dear boy. Sometimes, I think that it’s okay to reach out and ask him. But then I remember. To you, it feels like another lifetime. A fiction, a dystopian novel like _1984_ or _I Have no Mouth and I Must Scream_. To me, it was yesterday.” 

_____ _

Ah, now he understood. He couldn’t offer any words of encouragement, this was not his deal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help. He pulled out a pen and paper that was miraculously in his coat pocket. Funny, he couldn’t remember putting them in there. Maybe they were freebies from the dentist and he never took them out. He scribbled Ashley’s name and number onto it and handed it to the man. 

_____ _

“Here, maybe you should talk to someone about this? Sort out your feelings?” 

_____ _

The man stared at the paper. “You mean like a therapist?” 

_____ _

“Yeah, she specializes in this kind of stuff. And she’s queer too, so you don’t have to worry about that.” 

_____ _

The man shook his head. “No, I couldn't possibly.” 

_____ _

Great, was he also one of those ‘therapy is for the weak’ types?” 

_____ _

“Why not? You have some hung-up feelings about this, talk to someone. Therapy is great. Everyone should go into therapy.” 

_____ _

He took the paper and studied it. “It’s just… other people probably need it more. I’ve been dealing with it just fine on my own and I’d hate to take the time of this young lady when other people have it worse.” 

_____ _

Grant sighed and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “That’s what they all say.” 

_____ _

He wasn’t sure if that was, indeed, what they all said, but according to Ashley, a lot of people had the attitude that they didn’t deserve therapy because they didn’t have it as bad as other people. 

_____ _

The man nodded and wiped more tears out of his eyes. “Thank you, dear boy. I’ll give her a call and see.” 

_____ _

Great, he did a good deed for the day! Hopefully, this guy would contact Ashley, work out his problems, and then live happily ever after with whoever he was pining after. 

_____ _

oOoOoOo

_____ _

Aziraphale stared down at the piece of paper when he got back to the bookshop. He sent a minor miracle the young man’s way. Nothing fancy, but he would have a good second date with the delightful young man he had been with today, and he’d get that promotion he deserved at work, complete with a better raise.

_____ _

“Therapy, as if an angel of the lord needs therapy,” he scoffed, turning over the piece of paper in his hands. 

_____ _

He picked up the phone and dialed. It rang a few times and he almost hung up. 

_____ _

“Hello, Dr. Schnee’s office. How can I help you?” A young woman said.

_____ _

He took a deep breath. “Um, yes, I was, well, that is to say, I was wondering if Dr. Ashely Schnee was available for an appointment, sometimes, in the future, or today? I’m not busy if she’s available. But I would prefer something in the future, just so that I can prepare. Do I need to prepare? Should I bring a list or something?” 

_____ _

“No, sir, you don’t need to bring a list unless you want to. Let me bring up her calendar.” 

_____ _

There were the sounds of a keyboard clicking. Aziraphale held his breath. 

_____ _

“It looks like she has an opening on Tuesdays at 10 AM. Have you ever done a session before?” 

_____ _

“With Dr. Schnee?” 

_____ _

“Or with anyone, sir.” 

_____ _

“Um, no, I can’t say that I have. Should I do another session with someone else?” 

_____ _

“No, that’s not necessary, sir.” Goodness, this young lady was very patient. Aziraphale sent a miracle her way as well. “If you give me your email address I’ll send you a packet of information so you know what to expect.” 

_____ _

“Um…” He did have a computer, the old dusty thing was currently being used to prop up a first-edition of Paradise Lost. He did turn it on once a year to do his taxes, but no more. The infernal thing was one of Crowley’s creations, and he didn’t trust it not to somehow make his life worse. 

_____ _

“I don’t have an email,” he said, ashamed at how old he was. 

_____ _

“That’s perfectly alright. You can come into our office anytime and I’ll have the papers ready for you.” She rattled off the address, which Aziraphale dutifully scribbled down. 

_____ _

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

_____ _

“No, my dear, you have been a most excellent source of information. Thank you, I’ll stop by tomorrow to pick up those papers.” 

_____ _

“You’re welcome, sir. Have a great day.” 

_____ _

The phone clicked, and Aziraphale was once more standing in the bookstore. He felt ridiculous, asking for an appointment with a human therapist. He should be able to figure this out for himself! 

_____ _

_That’s what they all say. _If that was indeed what they all said, then Aziraphale was in good company. If nothing else, his patronage at this establishment would help fund the career of a young woman doing so much good. Surely, there was a benefit in that.__

_____ _


	2. Accept Your Present; Work through Your Past; Plan Your Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of abuse, homophobia, queerphobia, self harm, depression, anxiety, mental health issues, narcissism, being in the closet
> 
> If I missed one, please let me know and I will add it.

Ashley Schnee always knew she wanted to help people. When she was younger, the dream was to become a doctor. In fact, for her first two years in university, the goal was to eventually get into medical school, preferably as a pediatrician. However, after she joined her university’s pride club, she often found her dorm room inundated with young people trying to find their way in the world. After talking with her school counselor, it was decided that instead of being a medical doctor that specialized in the body, she decided to instead become a psychiatrist. 

She loved her work. She loved when clients made breakthroughs and improved their lives for the better. She loved when they were able to find a solution that worked, to find better partners, and create stronger boundaries. 

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, however. There were days (and clients) that she just wanted to shake and scream, ‘This person is a narcissistic asshole and the reason you can’t make progress in dealing with your trauma! Cut them out of your life!’

She couldn’t do that, of course. For one, it would be very unprofessional. For another, people had to come to these conclusions on their own. She could tell them exactly what their problems were and how to solve them, but people didn’t work that way. They didn’t like to admit that their thinking was wrong or that they had spent years in an abusive relationship and the only possible way to heal was divorce. 

Still, Ashley Schnee was successful. She had helped homophobic parents realize their mistakes and work to heal their fractured relationship with their children (always with the caveat to let the child take control). She helped people discover that loving the same gender, being a different gender, or not wanting sex didn’t mean they were broken or damaged. She helped control anxiety disorders, stop clients from self-harming, and gave people hope that things would turn out alright. She loved her job, and she loved helping people. 

So, when Tuesday rolled around she was excited for her new client, Mr. Fell. 

Billie, her secretary knocked on the door. “Mr. Fell should be here in about thirty minutes. He’s single, never been married, no kids, owns a bookshop. You have your work cut out with him.” 

Billie may not have been a therapist, psychiatrist, or psychologist, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to read people. 

Ashley took Mr. Fell’s file from her hands. “Closeted?” 

She snorted. “No, I don’t think so. But definitely a people-pleaser and very nervous.” 

People-pleasers were always an added challenge. Before they could get any work done, Ashley had to first convince them that they mattered as much as the people they were trying to please. 

“He is adorable, though. The kind of kind old man that you just want to invite over to your house for tea and knitting.” 

“What is it with you and knitting?” 

“It relaxes me.” Billie shrugged. 

“If you say so.” Ashley tried to get into knitting once. The yarn kept slipping off the needle and after an hour, she tossed the whole kit and caboodle into the fireplace. “Thanks for this, Billie. Send him in when he gets here.” 

Billie nodded and closed the door. 

It didn’t take long for soft voices to float in from the waiting room. Mr. Fell was punctual, it seemed. She scribbled that into her notebook. A few minutes later and there was a soft knock on the door. 

“Come in,” she said. 

“Mr. Fell is here for his appointment,” Billie opened the door, and in walked an older gentleman that was, in a sense very adorable. 

“Hello, Mr. Fell, please, make yourself comfortable.” She motioned to the chair opposite her. “I have some tea or water if you’d like.” 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Mr. Fell smiled. He was dressed impeccably, with what looked like actual vintage garments. The velvet waist had wear and tear right at the front bottom, looking as though someone had a habit of rubbing it (stimming?). He was wearing a tartan bowtie and a gorgeous cream jacket with impeccably tailored pants and beautiful brown loafers. 

So, he took pride and care in his style. He also seemed fairly comfortable in the clothes which meant there was, at least, a little confidence. No one walked around looking like that without at least a bit of confidence. He would stick out like a sore thumb in the black and grey sea that was current men’s fashion. 

“You can take your coat off if you’d like,” she said. 

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” He sat down on the chair, a bit stiff. His hands rested on the bottom of the waistcoat, thumbs rubbing the velvet. She did not make a note of this, not yet. She didn’t want him to feel like she was studying him (she was studying him, but that was her job). 

“So, Billie, my secretary tells me that you’ve never had a session before.” 

Mr. Fell shook his head. “No, my dear. I’m afraid I never quite got around to talking with someone, professionally, that is.” 

Old fashioned, polite, very reserved. 

“I’m Dr. Ashely Schnee. You can call me Dr. Schnee or Ashley, whatever makes you feel most comfortable. Is there a preferred name I should call you?” 

“You can call me Mr. Fell, or Aziraphale if you’d like, Dr. Schnee. Either works.” 

She nodded and scribbled down some notes in her notebook. 

“I’ll start with Mr. Fell and maybe as we get more comfortable with one another, we can be a bit more informal. Now, do you have preferred pronouns?” 

Mr. Fell was silent for a few moments. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it. I suppose male pronouns are fine. I’ve never really identified as anything but. Though, I’ve never thought too hard about it.” 

She wrote this down. “That’s fine. If at any point this changes, let me know. Therapy is about self-discovery as much as it is about finding healthy coping mechanisms for our emotions.” 

She leaned back and smiled at him. “Now, since this is your first session, I was thinking it would be best for us to go through what a typical session looks like as well as some of your goals.” 

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” 

“A lot of people have this vision that therapy will magically heal them immediately, but that’s not how it works. It’s a lot of hard work and there will be times when you’ll feel like you’ve stalled or even gone backward. There might be suggestions that don’t work for you or problems that you thought were small and insignificant but are much more intense. Honest communication is required if you want this process to work. I can’t read your mind. You will be uncomfortable, you will experience a lot of intense emotions, but I need you to be open and honest with me about what you’re feeling, what’s working, and what’s not so I can help create a successful plan.” 

Mr. Fell nodded. 

“The goal of therapy, like I stated before, is not to make you feel happy all the time. Humans are complex creatures with complex emotions. Negative emotions, like anxiety, sadness, anger, and fear all serve a very important purpose in our overall mental health. My goal is to help you deal with past traumas, no matter how small you think they are, and then create coping mechanisms so you can react to situations, emotions, and people healthily and positively.” 

“Oh, that’s good to know,” Mr. Fell said. “I’m not sure being happy all the time would be a good thing anyway.” He seemed to relax a bit, sinking back into the chair. 

“Now, what brought you here today? Why did you decide to seek out therapy now?” She asked. 

Mr. Fell bit his lip. “Well… I suppose there have been some recent changes in my life, very large changes. I feel that that is to say,” He paused and blinked, his eyes wet with tears. 

“It’s okay, take your time.” 

“Right,” he nodded. “Right, I have lived my entire life with a certain set of beliefs. Things have changed and now, I don’t entirely know who I am or what I should be doing.” 

“Were these changes sudden?” 

He shook his head. “Yes, and no. Looking back, I think that I knew a long time ago they were heading here, but at the same time, it feels sudden, like my entire world has ended and I’m floating in space.” 

She scribbled some more notes into her notebook. Billie was right, Mr. Fell was shaping up to be an interesting client. 

“Doctor,” he said, his voice soft. 

She looked up. “Yes?” 

“I know I started the change as the reason I’ve come today and will continue to come for the foreseeable future, but there are… problems. Problems with myself.” 

“That’s fine, Mr. Fell. No one is perfect.” 

“I know, it’s just… what if there are too many?” 

This was not the first time she had heard such a question. Several clients had this mistaken belief that they were beyond repair, too broken for therapy. They took more work and often took longer to make significant progress, but she had never met a client she couldn’t help at least a little. 

“In my experience,” she said, “the human mind is very complex. In some ways, we often see our problems as separate from each other. However, I have found that starting to fix one often leads to a domino effect. These problems can feed into each other, make each other stronger or weaker, depending. You are not so problematic and complicated that we can’t start on the path of healing. Even if there are hundreds of mental health issues, we’ll work through them. If I come to one that I can’t help confidently, I’ll refer you to a specialist who can. You’re doing the right thing, Mr. Fell. You’re asking for help, and because you’re asking for help, I can help you.” 

He didn’t look convinced. 

Their session continued for the rest of the hour. She took the time to find out more about him, what he did for fun if he had friends, what he did for work, etc. At the end of the session, when Mr. Fell had waved goodbye and walked out the door, she had come to four conclusions: He was British, he was clever, he was gay, and he was in desperate need of help. 

oOoOoOo

Mr. Fell quickly proved to be one of Ashley’s most interesting and most infuriating clients. He was polite, he was kind, he had a hint of rebellion in him that she loved. But he also seemed more interested in helping other people than helping himself. This wouldn’t matter so much except it was Ashely’s job to help him, not the other way around. 

More than once she caught herself treating Mr. Fell as her therapist rather than the other way around. It would start with innocent questions and would eventually morph into him giving her advice as to how to deal with her overbearing mother who wanted grandkids, or reaffirming that she was right to break up with her girlfriend, or a million other things that were going on in Ashely’s life. 

She finally had to write a note at the top of her page before Mr. Fell’s session in capital letters that read “DO NOT TALK ABOUT YOURSELF WITH MR. FELL!”

He always tried to wiggle the conversation onto her and she always had to force the conversation back onto him. It was frustrating, but the day they went an entire hour without Mr. Fell trying to give her advice was the day she’d finally be confident they were making progress. 

They were, of course, still making progress on his other problems, and boy did he have problems. His family was abusive, he was somehow both in the closet and out of it at the same time, he had an unspoken crush on his oldest friend, Crowley, and he seemed to understand on some level that people like him deserved love and respect. However, HE did not deserve love and respect. He was a soldier and had some trauma related to that. He was brought up with the ludicrous notion that he had to be as perfect as an angel (something that was always doomed to fail). It seemed that a lot of his queer friends had either been killed for being gay (heartbreaking) or were never out, to begin with (also heartbreaking). He had created these complicated dances and rituals that allowed him to break the rules regularly, without ever really breaking the rules. This led to guilt, pain, anxiety, depression, and cutting off Crowley, his only source of love and support. Also, a man who his family did not approve of in the slightest, which added to the whole anxiety and guilt thing. 

God, they were running circles around the issues. She was chiseling away at him, though. She could tell he was starting to understand that his family was not good people, even if they thought of themselves as angels. 

She did this by zeroing in on Gabriel. “So you say he often takes great pride in his appearance?” she asked, one day. Hopefully, this was the day he’d finally crack and see that he wasn’t perfect because none of his siblings were. 

“Yes. He’s always going on about the clothes and his workout regime. I cannot get behind the idea of jogging, though I do like to dance.” 

“Gabriel then buys very expensive clothes and spends a lot of time on his physique and outward appearances. Is this necessary for his job?” 

Mr. Fell paused and thought about it. “No, I suppose it’s not.” 

“Is there any reason he would have to buy expensive clothes instead of, say, going to the thrift store and picking up something second-hand?” 

Mr. Fell pulled a face. “Gabriel would rather fall than dress in someone else’s clothes.” 

She nodded. “But it isn’t necessary for his job. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing bad about taking pride in your appearance and dressing in a way you want to dress.”

Mr. Fell nodded, there were tears in his eyes. They were so close to a breakthrough, she could feel it. 

“But…” he said, his voice cracking. “But, there’s no reason for him to do it. He’s dressing this way because of…” 

Come on, so close. 

“Because of pride.” The floodgates opened and Mr. Fell started sobbing. “It’s one of the seven deadly sins, pride. He shouldn’t be prideful.” 

Ashely handed him a box of Kleenex. 

“They always pointed out all of my flaws, particularly the gluttony.” He blew his nose, loudly. “But they’re not perfect? Why do I have to be perfect when they’re not perfect? Why does Gabriel get to be a pompous dick when I have to forgo all pleasure of the world?” 

“Sometimes, the people who are most critical of our flaws, are the people who are most ashamed of theirs.” 

Mr. Fell had cut his siblings out of his life, gone completely no contact, not long before they met. That was the catalyst to this whole journey. Ashely was proud of him. Cutting off a family member, no matter how abusive, was something that brought with it pain and uncertainty. The fact that it seemed like an extreme escalation had led to this no-contact was slightly more worrisome. She still hadn’t figured out what his family had done, but she could only imagine. 

She spent the rest of the session listening to Aziraphale rant about his siblings and how awful they were. It was the first time he had talked about something so selfishly. He didn’t apologize for talking about himself. He didn’t try to turn the conversation back on her. He just talked, and cried, and talked some more. 

Ashley asked questions and gave advice when she could, but for the most part, she let him finally air his issues without fear, guilt, anxiety, or pain. 

oOoOoOo

Aziraphale had been coming to her for a little over a year now. Every Tuesday at 10 AM, he would arrive. Sometimes he’d bring scones or a book he thought Billie might like. Other times he came empty-handed. 

They were making progress, huge amounts of progress. Ashely could not be more proud. Aziraphale was a fascinating man with so much personality, so many stories, so many interests. Each week, he seemed to light up more, to glow more, to smile more, to laugh more. They had conversations that ended in tears and conversations that ended in laughter. Sometimes he left the office looking more broken and sad, sometimes he left it looking lighter and happier. Regardless, each step they took was a step forward. 

She had decided, early on, to focus first and foremost on Azriaphale’s past trauma. Nothing would improve until he came to terms with his family and his past. This meant, however, that his relationship with Anthony Crowley had to be put on the backburner. 

She could tell he wanted to deal with this. She could tell his interactions with the man were not what he wanted, but he was stuck trying to figure out a way to move forward. She had never met Anthony Crowley before, but based on Aziraphale’s description, he seemed like a patient and kind man. She did encourage Aziraphale to be more open with his wants when it came to Crowley and spend some time with him without using work as an excuse. It seemed to work, mostly. He told her when he went out with the man and what they did. She wanted to know what Crowley did for a living to afford to go to the Ritz on a nearly weekly basis. 

Though, after creating healthy coping mechanisms and working through his anxiety and depression, Ashley finally thought it was time for Aziraphale to tackle his relationship with Crowley. 

“Tell me about what you want from your relationship with Crowley,” she asked on a bright sunny day. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale blinked at her, his hands migrating back to the bottom of his waistcoat. “I, I don’t know. I don’t suppose I’ve ever thought about it.” 

He bit his lip. “Goodness, I feel I’ve been rather horrible to him.” 

“Recently?” 

He shook his head. “I never apologized to him, for saying that I didn’t like him. Is that what you’re getting at? I should apologize to him?” 

“I think you are feeling hung up on what you said in the past and you did say some hurtful things. Apologizing might be a good idea, but that’s not what I meant.”

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t say anything so Ashley prompted him. 

“You’ve made a lot of progress this past year coming to terms with your past, and that’s great, but eventually you have to move on from the past and start thinking about your future. I feel like Crowley is a part of your future, but it’s clear to me that you’ve never thought about what that looks like. You’re in a private space here, Aziraphale. You can tell me anything you want and I will not judge you. Remember, I need you to be honest if we are going to make progress.” 

“Yes, I remember. And thank goodness for the patient-doctor privilege,” he laughed. He was trying to distract her. She wasn’t falling for it. Time to start asking questions. 

“Why don’t you want to talk about your future with Crowley?” 

He wiped his eyes, tears gathering in the corners and spilling onto his cheeks. “There never was supposed to be a future with Crowley.” 

His lip wobbled and he took out an embroidered handkerchief (probably older than Ashley’s grandma) and dabbed at his eyes. “That’s why… that’s why I pushed him away. I didn’t want him to get hurt. How can I think about the future when I was never allowed to want a future with him?” 

“Do you still think you can’t have a future with him?” 

He sniffed and shook his head. “That was the whole reason for going against Gabriel and the others. I…” 

He started sobbing. “I want a future with him. I want a future with him. I want a future with him.”

Ashley let him cry, let him come to terms with what he had lived so long not daring to believe in. 

Finally, the sobs calmed down and Aziraphale went back to dabbing his eyes with the handkerchief. 

“I want a future with him, but I don’t know what that looks like. Does that look like sex or does that look like what we’ve been doing?” 

“That’s a good question and one that only you and Crowley can figure out together. For now, though, what would you want your next steps to be? Remember, this is just between you and me, the sky’s the limit.” 

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. “I suppose… it’s silly really.” 

“Nothing is silly.” She assured him. 

“I suppose I’d like to hold his hand when we go for walks in the park, and maybe kiss his cheek. Or let him kiss my cheek. I think that’d be nice.” He looked at her, eyes filled with worried. “Is that enough?” 

She nodded. “People seem to think that relationships fall into two categories, the people you have sex with and the people you don’t have sex with. That’s not the case, though, and there’s a full spectrum of people with different levels of intimacy and physical affection. If that’s all you ever want from a relationship, then that’s okay. What’s most important is that this is communicated to your partner.” 

“I suppose you are correct with that, my dear.” 

Their session was almost up, but Ashely didn’t want to leave them like this. “I want you to tell Crowley what you told me today.” 

He bit his lip. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that?” 

“Why not? Remember, if you truly aren’t ready then that’s fine and we can work on getting you ready.” 

“It’s… I mean, that is to say, I don’t know why. I don’t feel ready.” 

“Is it because having this conversation means things will change and you’re afraid of that change?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, you are very good at reading my mind, despite not being able to. I don’t want to lose him.” 

“Okay, let’s say you don’t have this conversation with Crowley, things stay the same. How would that make you feel?” 

He sighed. “I wouldn’t feel grand. I want to move on. I want to see a future with him. I want him to know that I love him. But what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if this is what finally makes him leave?” 

Based on what she knew about Crowley, she was skeptical that he would leave Aziraphale. She couldn’t be sure, though. People were complex creatures and it was nearly impossible to figure out what they were truly like from one person’s account. 

“Aziraphale, do you want to be with someone who is with you conditionally? Right now you are putting thoughts and feelings into Crowley’s mind based on your fears, and that’s something that everyone does. What’s more important now, for your relationship, is, to be honest with your feelings. What I told you in our very first session, about how we can only make progress if you’re open and honest, is something that holds out in the world. You deserve a partner you feel you can be honest with. And Crowley deserves the chance to help define your relationship moving forward. You have suffered so much in your past, and you deserve to move on and start planning for the future, in whatever form that takes.” 

Aziraphale swallowed and dabbed his eyes again. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Whether or not you decide to tell Crowley, let me know in the next session so we can continue to work through these feelings.” 

“Of course, my dear. Thank you so much for your help.” 

Normally, Ashely could figure out what her clients were going to do when they left, if they’d do the homework or not. However, she honestly could not tell if Aziraphale was going to admit his true feelings to Crowley or not. She hoped he would, it would be a huge weight off his back. If he didn’t she’d be ready and she’d help him through those emotions as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could probably do an entire novel just based on Aziraphale going to therapy and documenting each session. As it stands, I want to get to Crowley's chapter so we'll just leave it here. Remember kids, therapy is cool and you should probably be doing it (if you can afford it).


	3. This, Right Here, Right Now, is Enough

Aziraphale did not call Crowley to talk when he left the session. Nor did he call him the day after, or the day after, or the day after. 

There was a looming sense of dread as he looked at his calendar each day and say that he was getting closer and closer to next Tuesday. 

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous about this. If he decided not to talk to Crowley this week, then that was fine. He’d discuss it with Ashley at their next session and they could move forward from there. 

No. He knew why he felt so nervous about walking into the office Tuesday morning and announcing that he hadn’t talked to Crowley. It was because he wanted to move forward with Crowley. He wanted to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, and go to dinners and shows as more than friends. He yearned to live life without fear, without guilt, without anxiety. True, the anxiety would probably never fully go away, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy life. Wasn’t that what saving the world was all about? 

He wanted to call Crowley and talk to him. He wanted to share with him all that he had learned about himself these past few months. Crowley was a dear and ever-so patient. Ashley was right. Aziraphale was the only one holding their relationship back because of their trepidation. Crowley was following his lead and going at his pace, which meant that if Aziraphale wanted to change the pace, he would have to communicate it. 

And to communicate it, he would first have to call Crowley. 

It was Sunday. 

He didn’t have any plans. 

He didn’t have anything to fear. 

He picked up the phone and dialed Crowley’s number. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice a bit too high and breathless. He was nervous. Could Crowley tell? 

“Angel, what’s up?” 

“Um, yes, well, I was wondering if you’d have time to meet me at the bookshop today?” There, he said it. He had put the invitation out there. 

“Is something wrong? You sound kind of stressed. Are you alright?” 

“Um…” Well, that was a loaded question. Physically, he was alright. Mentally, he was doing better. That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about what was about to take place. “Yes, dear. You have nothing to worry about. I just…” 

Should he tell Crowley now or wait for him to get here? It might be easier to tell him over the phone when he couldn’t see Crowley’s face. On the other hand, that seemed cowardly to do. 

“I just want to talk to you, about us.” There, he had said it. “It’s nothing bad, though. I promise. But things have changed and I think it would be best if we… you know… maybe had a conversation?” Damn, was that good enough? Did that make things worse? Was he causing Crowley anxiety by his vague statements?

“Alright, angel. When do you want me to come by?” 

Aziraphale had the urge to tell him to pop by whenever, but he needed to be prepared. If Crowley were to drop by unannounced, he might not handle the situation well. He didn’t want to mess everything up, not now.

“How about in an hour?” Yes, that should give him plenty of time to craft an exquisite speech that captured all of his feelings and emotions. 

“Alright, I’ll see you then. Angel, you’re alright? You sure?” 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh. “Yes, dear. I’m sure. I will see you in an hour.” 

“Alright, bye.” 

He hung up the phone and stepped to his writing desk, preparing everything he wanted to say so that when Crowley came, he wouldn’t mess it all up. 

oOoOoOo

There was a knock on the door, much quicker than Aziraphale planned. Of course, when he looked at his watch, he realized that an hour had indeed passed. He swallowed and looked at the scattered papers on his desk. He hadn’t managed to fully explain his thoughts in the slightest. All that preparation for nothing. 

“Angel, you alright?” Crowley called. It was strange, normally he came in and out without a care in the world. Sure, he’d knock on occasion, but more often than not that knock was the only warning he gave to signal his appearance. 

“Coming,” Aziraphale miracled away the papers and came to the door. “Why are you standing outside? You’re never so polite as to wait for an invitation in.” 

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know, I just figured you might want some space.” 

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. Did Crowley think he was leaving him? Did he think Aziraphale was cutting off contact or something? 

“Hey,” Crowley said, his voice soft and calming. “It’s okay. Let’s go to the back and talk. Is that okay?” 

Aziraphale nodded and swallowed. Already he felt tears forming in his eyes and swallowed them down. He would not cry. He would use his words to discuss his feelings with Crowley like an adult. Like the six thousand-year-old angel he was. 

They settled into their usual spots, Aziraphale in his armchair and Crowley sprawled across the couch. 

“Whenever you’re ready, angel,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale nodded again and opened his mouth. 

What he meant to say was ‘Crowley, I’m very sorry for pushing you away all those years and denouncing our friendship. I’m sure you can understand that I did it to protect you from Heaven and Hell, but that doesn’t mean that the words I said didn’t hurt you. I’ve been going to therapy this past year and have worked through some of my trauma-induced anxiety. I feel I am at a stage where I can finally start moving forward and I want to start moving forward with you. I love you and I want you to be a part of my life, forever. Let’s talk about what we want so we can figure out what the next steps are.’

What he actually said was, “I’m sorry!” followed by a wail and a flood of tears as he broke down sobbing in his armchair. 

Crowley didn’t react for several minutes, frozen in place by this blatant display of emotions. Finally, his brain caught up to what he was seeing and he slid off the couch and rushed to the angel’s side. 

“What’s wrong, Aziraphale?” 

“Nothing,” Aziraphale sobbed, burying his face into Crowley’s chest and continuing to cry. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around his shaking shoulders and let the angel cry on him for a good few minutes. 

Finally, the sobs subsided and Aziraphale was left hiccupping in the chair. Crowley miracle a glass of water and handed it to him. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry, that wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” he said, dabbing his eyes with the handkerchief Crowley had given to him back in the early 1800s. 

“I gathered. Are you alright? I know I keep asking, but seriously, angel, if you’re not fine you can tell me.” 

Fresh tears spilled from Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh, I know, my dear, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Take your time, angel. We have all the time in the world now.” 

Aziraphale drank the rest of the water and took some deep breaths. “Alright, I think I got that out of my system. Goodness, that was unexpected.” 

Crowley smiled at him, patted his shoulder, and then made his way back to the armchair. 

Aziraphale miracled himself some cocoa and took a long sip. Crowley was silent, watching him, trying to see if he would break down once more. 

“Right, let me start by saying that I’m very sorry for saying I didn’t like you. That was a lie.” 

Crowley took off his glasses. If Aziraphale was going to be vulnerable with him, then he should return the favor. “Angel, I never blamed you for saying those things. I know why you did it, even if I didn’t always like it.” 

“Still, I feel awful about it, Crowley. I always did.” He was crying again, this time silently, though his face was puffy and red, with shiny tear tracks streaking down his face. 

“I know, angel. As I said, I understand, and I was never angry with you. I was angry at heaven and the situation, sure, but never at you.” 

“Really?” Aziraphale sniffed and looked up with such hope in his eyes. “Even when I said we weren’t friends?” 

“Yeah, the end of the world is stressful. Besides, you haven’t said something like that once since… you know, things happened.” 

Aziraphale sighed, his body sinking into the chair as years of stress, guilt, and anxiety finally shed and he was able to fully relax. “Oh, oh that’s so good. I’m so glad. I never told you this, Crowley, but you are my oldest and dearest friend. I- I cherish you and your company so completely.” 

Crowley blushed and looked away. “Er, thanks. I like you too.” 

Now was the time when he had to admit things. Now was the time that he had to finally break free of Heaven once and for all and admit that he loved a demon and would always love a demon, more than his angelic brothers and sisters. 

He looked down at the cocoa in his mug, anxiety rising once more. Blast! He was hoping a year of dutifully going to therapy would allow him to control this. He knew he was going to have to work on it for years, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t impatient about it. 

“I love you.” He said, quietly, almost a whisper in the small room. 

Crowley didn’t say anything. 

Aziraphale couldn’t lookup. “I love you like I love all of God’s creatures, but also like a friend, and perhaps something more. That’s what I wanted to tell you, Crowley. That’s what I wanted to tell you for so long. I want you to know so that we can figure out where to go from here.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. Why wasn’t Crowley saying anything? Was he ashamed of Aziraphale’s feelings? Did he loathe them? 

“Angel, look at me.” His voice was tender, soft, caring. 

Aziraphale bit his lip. 

“Please, angel,” Crowley asked. 

He blinked his eyes open, a few more tears shedding, and looked up. Crowley had his glasses off. Aziraphale always loved his eyes, they were so expressive. Right now, they seemed to express the same feeling of tenderness and care that threatened to burst from Aziraphale’s chest and fill the room. 

“I love you too.” 

“I thought you said you liked me?” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood but also to give Crowley an out. 

“I like you too. Those feelings aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “True, they’re not. I’m sorry, Crowley, I’m still unclear of what I want our relationship to look like.” 

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“But you want to move faster, I know you do.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley was back by his side, hovering, but not touching him. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, in whatever way you want to be together. If you just want to be friends for the rest of our days until the eventual heat-death of the universe, then that’s fine because that’s what you want.” 

“What if I don’t know what I want?” He was still fuzzy on what exactly he was expecting from a relationship with Crowley. He didn’t know if they would one day have sex or never have sex; if they’d kiss or never kiss; if they’d hug or never hug. 

“Tell me what you want right now, and we’ll go from there. If we ever get to a point where you want something and I don’t, I’ll let you know.” 

Aziraphale put down the mug and tentatively reached out for Crowley’s hand. “I think… I’d like to hold your hand. And maybe kiss your cheek. But not out there yet. I’m sorry.” His breath hitched. 

Crowley’s hand closed over his and his free hand wiped the tears from his eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll hold your hand in here for as long as you want me to.” 

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his cheek. The skin was cool against his lips and he could feel the slight stubble against his skin. 

“Why do you have stubble? You don’t need to shave.” He laughed. 

“Been experimenting with a five o’clock shadow look. I hear it’s all the rage now.” 

“As long as you don’t grow that hideous mustache again.” 

“That mustache was glorious and I’ll not have you slandering it,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale leaned into him, smiling. “You can kiss me too, dear. I think I’d like that.” 

He felt Crowley’s lips on his forehead and closed his eyes. 

“And maybe we could cuddle?” He suggested. 

“On the couch or in the bedroom?” 

“Here, please. Maybe later, we can go upstairs.” 

Crowley pulled him off the armchair and settled them both on the couch, tucking Aziraphale into his side. 

“Good?” 

“Perfect.” 

“So, what’s brought all of this on? Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I’m curious as to why you’re so open now.” 

“Oh, I’ve been going to a therapist this past year. She’s worked wonders and I feel like I’m making some great progress. Would you like her information?” 

“Nah, I got my therapist. David and I click, you know? He gets me.” 

“You’ve been going to therapy?” 

“Yup, for almost three years now.” Crowley kicked his feet up on the coffee table and snapped his fingers. The soft sounds of classical music came floating through the bookshop. 

“I’m proud of you, angel. You’re so much braver and stronger than you give yourself credit for.” 

“Sometimes, I don’t feel that way,” Aziraphale admitted. “But, I think I’m starting to see it too.” 

“Good.” Crowley kissed the top of his head and they stayed that way in the bookshop for hours. Soft music playing in the background and two people who loved each other finally spending time with one another. 

It wasn’t perfect. There was no plan. There was still work to do, but for the first time in his entire existence, Aziraphale finally felt like he could live the life he wanted. And for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is absolutely the kind of patient who roller-skates into the office five minutes late with Starbucks and says, "David, you won't believe the day I've been having." And then David says "Crowley, why are you wearing a crop-top and booty shorts in December?" 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I made myself cry more times than I can count and remember, you are a person who matters and who deserves love, respect, comfort, and safety. Have a great weekend and make sure to drink water and get out of your pajamas at least once.

**Author's Note:**

> Not much Aziraphale in this chapter, but the next two will be exclusively about him. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
